


Sylvando's Pride

by AllTheLokisWelcome7



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Act 2 Spoilers, Because our boys need some happiness, Found Family, Gen, It gets heavy fairly early on but it's all uphill from there, Loosely follows Acts 1-2, Misunderstandings, Pride, Pride Parade, Rewrite of Davé's motivations behind The Pink Incident, Rewrite of the timeframe of events in their lives, Several variations thereof, Stern Parent, Supportive Parent, Sylv Finds His Calling, Sylv Loves Everyone, Sylv adopts all stray queer folk, Sylvando Is Best Boi, The Gay ExperienceTM, Unnamed NPCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 07:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheLokisWelcome7/pseuds/AllTheLokisWelcome7
Summary: Sylvando pledges to make the world smile, subsequently leaving home to join the circus. Throughout his journey, he becomes something of an idol, offering a safe haven to all who would be left behind: a home in his heart.





	Sylvando's Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Erik may have the largest piece of my heart, but I can't argue that Sylv is Best Boi. Happy Pride Month, everyone!

Yggdrasil had led the right people to cross Sylvando's path at a difficult time in his life. When the travelling circus made a stop in extravagant Puerto Valor, his eyes filled with visions of the stars, and the sights and sounds within the grand tent soothed his troubled young heart. In that moment, he knew what he wanted to do with his life. The allure of stardom sang in his blood, sparking a flame within his heart, and he felt airy as he realised his true calling.

_I must help people realise themselves, just as this troupe has done for me. I will help everyone find the light in their lives._

After the show, he made his way towards the back of the tent, ignoring the summons of his father. The great flaps shielded his lithe form, and when Don Rodrigo's back was turned, he darted backstage.

The energy of the circus was still just as uplifting here as it was during the performance, strings of coloured lights throwing sparkling patterns over the walls and ceiling. He waited patiently by the exit, visible but unseen, until the ringmaster had finished instructing his troupe and turned to him.

“How can I help you, sir?”

Sylvando smiled, eyes glittering as fiercely as the costumes of those around him, and straightened his shoulders to steel himself. One hand fell subconsciously to his hip as the other extended pleasantly towards the ringmaster.

“I was just wondering if you were accepting new additions at the moment?”

The ringmaster pondered his request, studying him carefully.

“We might be, if you have something to bring to the table. But I warn you, there's a lot of hard work and a strict regimen that lies beneath the glitz and glamour. Do you have what it takes?”

Sylvando's free hand rose to point at his own temple.

“I assure you, darling, I am well used to a strict regimen,” he said with a wink. “As to my act... tell me, do you have any firebreathers under your wing presently?”

An eyebrow rose on the critical man's face. “A firebreather, you say? Well, if you can prove that, we might just be able work you in.”

With a nod, Sylvando glanced through the gap in the curtains that led to the stage and the now-vacant seats. “If the stage is set, I will play my part.”

“I'll have our team clear the stage for you.”

“You have my thanks, darling.”

The same mixture of excitement and elation that he felt during the show ran through Sylvando, lifting his heart and making his limbs feel as light as feathers. His hands clasped before his hammering chest of their own accord.

“Oh, and if you ever need a backup for your third act, I am quite proficient with many a weapon. Whips, swords, knives; you name it, and I'll work with it.”

A glimmer of intrigue shone in the ringmaster's eyes, his hand rising to rub his chin, and Sylvando felt a thrill of relief run through him. He was being considered. With this, he had a fighting chance.

Before he knew it, the stage had been set. He inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes to prepare himself. This would be the performance of a lifetime, the piece that would make or break his dreams, and he _would_ prove his worth. His knee raised with a practiced motion, poised to strike, and he revealed his steely gaze.

Powerful legs struck the ground and air as he hurled himself towards the ceiling, somersaulting as fast as the plates on their sticks had spun. He landed gracefully on a nearby crate, bending his knee to dispel the force of the impact, before lifting himself effortlessly onto his toes and raising his arms. Freedom called to him as he threw himself into his next move, hands touching the ground briefly as he flipped. In an instant, he had swiped the batons lined up on the table, sending them hurtling into the air. With every ounce of passion in his being, he unleashed a mighty roar, the flames of his heart manifesting from his mouth.

Gasps rose from the troupe beside him, startled and impressed, as the tent rained glitter over the table. Many broke into applause. Sylvando dared not move until the subsiding rush of adrenaline allowed his hearing to return, and the ringmaster rested his hand against his back.

“That was incredible, my boy! Tell me, what do we call you?”

As his grey eyes fell on the pile of silver flakes, some trickling from the cloth like sand, his new name finally clicked into place.

 _This is my chance at a new life, and finally,_ finally _the world will use my true name. At last, I do not have to hide who I am._

“My name is Sylvando, but you may call me Sylv.”

“Well, Sylv-”

“Norberto!”

Sylvando tensed under the ringmaster's touch, working desperately to school his features as his eyes drifted to his father storming through the aisles.

“So this is where you've been hiding. What is going on here?”

“Papi, I...” Fingers curled into fists at his sides and opened methodically, his shoulders trembling as he forced himself to take a deep breath, and stared his father in the eyes. “I will bring smiles to the world. Everyone, adult and child alike, will be delighted with my act, I swear it!”

The silent stillness his father commanded stretched on for an eternity, Sylvando only aware of the passing seconds from his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He was finally being honest with himself, with his father, and he was so, so scared of how it might play out.

Deciding that the tension had gone on for long enough, the ringmaster patted his back lightly before striding diplomatically towards Don Rodrigo, arms extended peacefully.

“You have raised a fine son, sir. It has been far too long since I have seen such a brilliant act, and if you would agree to it, we will always have a place open for him in our troupe. Travelling does wonders for a man, as I'm sure you know.”

Don Rodrigo may have listened, or perhaps the words fell on deaf ears; Sylvando could not tell for the hard, unwavering stare that was fixed on him. After the spiel, however, he spoke bluntly.

“If you swear to even such an unrealistic goal, then when you leave, don't bother returning home until you have finished it.”

Sylvando felt his poor pure heart break in two, and he said nothing. His body refused to move, and try as he might, his tongue lay leaden in his mouth. There was nothing he could do besides watch his beloved Papi turn and leave him behind.

Guilt gnawed at his insides, and the shaking would not stop. Tears welled in his eyes, but they refused to flow, stayed by his shock.

_Is this not supposed to be a happy occasion? For the first time in my life, I have a purpose that is my own. I know what I want now. I have a direction for my passion, and Papi has given me the go-ahead to pursue my calling, and yet..._

Finally, his arm was freed from its curse, and he brought it before his mouth. White knuckles pressed steadily against his lips and teeth, and he heard more than felt the sob that tore from his throat, foreign to his ears.

Members of the troupe hurried to console him, touching his hand, shoulders and back. He let them lead him backstage to a chair, his eyes closed the entire time. Gradually, the sounds of their movements ceased, and their presences faded from around him. All but one.

He opened an eye, hardly seeing, to find an ageing man staring at him. The edges of his mouth curled tightly with sympathy, but his kind eyes held an understanding that Sylvando had never felt before. This person was... like him.

A small surge of fondness crept into his tired heart, aided by the fact that this man looked so similar to Servantes.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that, boss.”

_Boss? That doesn't seem so bad..._

“I don't know if you'll believe me, but I know how you feel. It isn't easy, getting disowned, but you seem like a resilient sort. You'll be back on your feet in no time.” His smiled eased then, glowing warmly, and he stood to give him some space. “Just you wait until you're really on that stage. Hearing the audience fall under a spell as you live and breathe your act... To me, there's no greater joy.”

Sylvando nodded numbly, trying to wrap his head around the day.

_Freedom... Fear, heartache. What is it all for?_

“You can rest here for awhile, but if you're coming with us, you should pack. Today was our last show in this place, and we'll be leaving at dawn.”

All Sylvando could do was stare as he was left to his thoughts.

* * *

Don Rodrigo sat in his office, steadfast and silent as he listened to the shuffling and scraping in the room above him. Guilt ate at him, worsened as he listened to his only child pack his belongings, and it finally dawned on him that this was their goodbye.

He had chosen his words carelessly, and this ache was his retribution. Servantes assured him that his intentions had been made clear, that Norberto understood what he had meant, but he was unable to believe it. Norberto was still upset with him. They had not spoken a word to each other since he had left the tent, and it broke his heart.

He refused to get in his way. His boy had wanted to go on his own adventure for years now, and this was what he had decided. In this scenario, he would not travel alone. But in his twenty years of being a father, he had never once thought that the party Norberto would join would be a band of dancers and actors. It seemed unlikely that they would protect him.

Perhaps he should try to say something. But what was there to say, when he had spoken truly? A knight's word is his bond, after all. However, Norberto did not seem to see it that way. Had he misunderstood his words? Not heard the underlying sentiment in face of their harshness?

He was welcome home when he had fulfilled his oath. If he had not sworn to his ambition, he could stay here at any time.

Clomping cases, unsteady footsteps, and fast words echoed to him from the stairs, and he knew that it was now or never. He rose to his feet and opened the door to his office loudly. Norberto spun around at the noise, staring right at him with an unsmiling face. It looked wrong on his cheerful boy. _Felt_ wrong.

“Norberto.”

There was no response.

“Norberto, I fear that you did not understand my words.”

“What is there to not understand, Papi?” Norberto's eyes wavered. “You do not want me here.”

“That's wrong!”

Don Rodrigo did not mean to raise his voice, but as his boy's arm jerked up as though to defend himself, he regretted it immediately.

_Just one mistake after another._

“You can return once you have fulfilled your oath. This does not have to be the end.”

Silence.

“Make me proud, Norberto.”

Finally, his son began moving again, more fluid than unusually stiff as he wrapped his arms around his own torso. His voice wavered when he spoke, barely able to say the quiet words.

“I love you, Papi.”

Too prideful to express the sentiment in words, Don Rodrigo slowly rested his heavy hand on Norberto's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Goodbye, my son. You are capable of great things, so make sure that something so simple as smiles does not keep us apart.”

Finally, the smile returned to his son's eyes and mouth. Don Rodrigo stood stiffly as he was wrapped in a tight embrace, unsure of how to respond, before Norberto pulled away just as quickly.

“Whenever you hear news of _The Great Sylvando,_ think of me with pride.”

With those final words, he took one of his bags back from Servantes, and strode from the building.

_I will, my boy._

* * *

As the months passed and the circus toured the world, stopping in every town and city that they passed, the ache in Sylvando's heart lessened. Due to his father's unshakeable stances, disagreements and misunderstandings were a frequent occurrence in the Rodrigo household. Whatever had possessed him to emerge from his office and say his goodbyes, Sylvando thanked it immensely. He knew that the pain would be indescribable if they had parted without clearing things up.

Leaving the pain and pouts backstage became part of the act, and as he grew more familiar with his new family, the smiles he gifted the crowds burned brighter than ever. Truly, this was what he lived for, what had been missing in his life for all of these years. All the smiles that he had grown up with were because the people loved the knights, or because of his status as the son of the infamous Don Rodrigo, and rarely because of who he was. They were still pleasant, but they lacked the intense joy that the people directed at the stage.

Sailing around the continent in a modest ship was relaxing, but brought pangs of homesickness. On his seventeenth birthday, his father had offered to have a ship built for him. Much of their bonding over his life had been over cruising, and the offer had been a dream come true, but they had argued over its shape so fiercely that it was never finished. That was almost four years ago, now.

Sylvando sighed fondly against his hand, elbows resting on the wooden railing, as he continued gazing out to sea.

_I wonder if they will finish it now that I am gone._

“Land ho!” one of the sailors they'd hired to escort them called, breaking him out of his thoughts and sending the deck into a flurry of bodies and limbs as everyone rushed to their stations. Sylvando busied himself with the rope keeping one of the sails unfurled, following orders quickly.

They docked safely in a small seaside town, nestled in a bay between two large cliffs. The golden sand was beautiful, and although it was smaller than the pristine beaches of Puerto Valor, it was similar enough to soothe some of his woes.

Fishermen and merchants greeted them cheerfully, welcoming their guests to their 'piece of peace, sweet Lonalulu'. After a brief warning about the dangers of mermaids, the troupe were led through the sparse town to where they had space to set up.

Sylvando drank in the new sights while the others talked business. His eyes landed on a muscular man, his face hidden behind a yellow mask, trailing at the edge of the gathering. If his slightly slouched posture was anything to go by, he seemed reluctant to join his fellow villagers.

_Well, it can't hurt to ask if something is troubling him._

Breaking away from the troupe with ease, Sylvando trod soundlessly past the crowd, glancing side to side as though he were merely sightseeing. He passed the man's hiding place, shielding himself from prying eyes, and softly spoke to him.

“Hello there, honey.”

The man jumped, hurriedly turning to face him, and glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone else had noticed him.

“'Ello yourself,” he answered nervously, crossing his arms.

“Are you alright? If you don't mind me saying so, you looked rather unhappy over here, all by your lonesome.”

“Ah. Well, you see...”

Sylvando relaxed his posture, subtly opening his body language to the newcomer, and waited patiently. The man didn't seem to be aware of it, but some of the tension left his shoulders in turn.

“Er, per'aps we might discuss this somewhere more private? I feel as though I've already drawn enough displeasure towards meself.”

“Certainly, darling.” Sylvando scanned the area more seriously this time, and spotted a small cabana where someone was serving drinks to an elderly couple. He gave the man his brightest smile, pointing towards it with both hands whilst maintaining eye contact. “My, but I _am_ parched after the long boat ride here. Would a drink or two suit you?”

The man nodded seriously and began leading the way. Sylvando was humbled to see the confidence already growing in his strides.

“You can order for me, honey,” he assured, sliding into a seat as he gently stoked the fires of the man's shaky confidence. “I wouldn't have the foggiest idea of what they serve.”

“A-alright.”

He placed the orders as he shuffled onto the stool beside Sylv, nervously drumming his fingers against the bar top. He glanced around him much like the entertainer had before, unable to settle. Soon enough, two tall glasses of a fruity pink liquid were placed in front of them, and Sylvando took to it quickly, drinking it through the snaking straw.

“Oh, this is _delicious_ , darling. Thank you for introducing me to it!”

“'S no trouble...” he muttered bashfully, stirring rather than drinking his drink. If his eyes were visible, Sylvando might have been able to confirm if he was staring off into the distance.

“What _is_ trouble, though,” he continued. “Is that, while they seem wizened on the surface, the people 'ere are... superstitious, to put it bluntly.”

Sylvando nodded his understanding, watching the pink liquid traverse the green straw as he sipped.

“They care for me still, but it don't feel like 'ome anymore. I dunno 'ow much more I can take.”

“Well, our purpose is to distract people from their worries for awhile. But,” Sylv added, leaning towards him. A mischievous grin crossed his face as he winked. “My _personal_ mission is to help everyone I meet remember how to smile. So, what can I do to help you? Just name it, and we shall see if I can't find a way to fix it, hmm?”

The man stared at him for a long moment, gauging his intentions, before he turned to his drink with a heavy sigh.

“I can't ask you to 'elp me wiv this. I don't want you to get caught up in me petty upsets, an' I'd 'ate meself forever if I upped an' dragged your reputation through the mud.”

To his surprise, Sylvando laughed haughtily, the back of his hand blocking his mouth.

“Oh, honey. With me by your side, I promise that no one will think badly of my troupe.”

He shifted in his seat, swivelling his hips to face him, and offered his hand.

“I've done quite a few outlandish things over the years, I'll have you know.”

“Cor blimey,” the man sputtered, gripping his hand. “'Ere I am bleedin' my 'eart out to you, an' you don't even know me name. I'm Davé.”

“Sylv. The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. So!” He rubbed his hands together ecstatically once the handshake was over, grinning from ear to ear. “What daring plan do you have in mind?”

“Well, I did 'ave this one thought. Me favourite colour is pink, see, and pink is a common enough colour 'round 'ere, yet since it's become associated wiv 'em mermaids, it's grown frowned upon. I need to show 'em that it ain't nuffin' to be ashamed about.”

“Painting the town pink, hmm? So, if I could set the stage for you, how will we do it?”

“Painting?” Davé's head jerked up quickly, every visible muscle lax with shock. “Blimey, Sylv, yer a genius!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Sylvando chuckled, tilting his face away dramatically. “I'm just here to liven things up.”

“Thanks fer all your 'elp, nonetheless.”

Sylvando merely smiled, placed enough gold on the bar to cover both of their tabs, and returned to his troupe. Davé could do nothing but stare after him curiously.

“Where have you been, Sylv?” one of the dancers asked, resting her hand on his arm.

“Sowing the seeds of happiness, darling.”

His response was the same no matter who asked the question. It had grown into something of a ritual among the troupe during their time together, a greeting that made things even brighter. They had learned early on to let Sylvando wander; when he had mingled enough with the locals, and had his fill of the new town, he would always return with enough time to get ready, and a brilliant smile on his face. Leaving him to his little rituals always seemed to bring more faces to their shows, too.

* * *

Three days later, when cheerful people were slowly milling out of the tent, Sylvando left backstage early to greet the audience. As he posed with his flocking fans and signed autographs, delightedly gleaning feedback on the performance, he wondered what Davé had planned. They hadn't discussed the details, but Sylv had always had a sixth sense for impending grandiose gestures.

He didn't have to wait long as a thunderous _boom_ echoed off of the hills, startling the gathered crowd. He mirrored them, observing where they set their sights and following suit, to see Davé on one of the tallest cliffs, clad entirely in pink. Another boom came from the cannon he readied, and the crowd watched with awe as streams of shimmering pink paint flew through the air, landing haphazardly on roofs and signs. In the dim light of the moon, the paint took on a purple hue, and no one had it in themselves to be outraged at the spectacular display. The circus had been so vibrant and uplifting, as festive as any luau, and the paint was beautiful.

“What's going on?” Sylvando asked the people, keeping in character as the oblivious traveller.

“Oh, that'll be Davé,” an old woman sighed. “The boy means well, but he does not live in fear of mermaids like the younger adults think he should. Although, that boy has always been odd.”

“It's so... beautiful,” he breathed, his hand alighting on his chest.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she conceded. Despite the situation, hearing the lad's pure joy sent her heart soaring.

“And how creative, using a cannon! He must be very resourceful.”

She smiled, reminded of all the times that Davé had helped the village in unexpected ways. He refused to behave the way the fishermen did, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, if he was making a difference. She could be at peace, leaving the village in the hands of the young with good hearts.

“I remember this one time when he was helping the men bring in their catch. When it was almost in the boat, the net snapped, and they could have lost everything. The crafty little blighter got his head stuck in the hole, and wouldn't you know it, they didn't lose a single fish!”

Sylvando chortled, light and musical, bringing bursts of joy to all around him.

“I bet he was adorable as a little one. Was he difficult to look after?”

“Not much more than any other child.”

Another stream of pink launched over their heads, coating the roof of the church, and she chuckled.

“It is no surprise that he is having an outburst now. He belongs out there in the world, not stifled away in some secluded bay. Our little village doesn't have the space he needs to grow. Always growing, that boy.”

“Is he your grandson?”

She laughed airily.

“Goodness, no. I have no children of my own, but I have always helped raise the little ones. I think that, because of my unusual choice around these parts, he felt most comfortable with me. Although he never complained, he was never as happy as the other children. Mostly happy, but not as much as he should have been.”

“If it would not break your heart, my dear, he is welcome to join us if he wishes.”

Her face lit up, and she could not hide her relief. “Oh, would you do that for him? He would be ever so grateful, as would I.”

Their eyes shone with joy as he extended his hand and bowed dramatically.

“I promise that I will personally see to it that his needs are met! You have my word, honey!”

She clapped her hands twice, bringing them to rest against her cheek.

“Oh, you are a _saint,_ boy. Don't go changing your smile, alright?”

“I won't.”

Paint flew for the last time to dress the only untouched structure left in the village, and Davé dutifully cleaned the cannon to ensure that it would remain functional.

“Stagnant waters do little for an artistic soul,” she murmured, watching him. “But still he chooses to express himself. More bravery lies within his heart than anyone may ever know.”

“Besides us,” Sylv offered gently.

“Besides us,” she agreed, bowing her head.

Finally, Davé ran from the cliff, his feet carrying him faster than anyone thought possible from his bulk. He disappeared behind some houses, and the crowd dispersed to check on the damage to their homes or retire for the night. He reappeared near the pair when they were alone, his head held high.

“Tutu,” Davé greeted.

“You're an inspiration to us all, Davé,” she returned, pulling him into a hug. “I hope you remain a sweetheart forever.”

“I will, Tutu.”

He turned to Sylvando then, rubbing the back of his head.

“So, er, I got that out of me system.”

“And a fine job you did of it,” Sylv remarked proudly. “What will you do now?”

“I... I dunno. 'Elp 'em clean it up, I s'pose. Maybe see you off.”

“You could come with me, you know.”

Davé froze, staring at him with surprise.

“Cor, really? You won't mind?”

“All are welcome in my heart, dear Davé. Stragglers, misfits, orphans, and unfortunate souls especially. So what do you say?” One hand reached towards him with the offer, his other placed lightly over his heart. Just as when they had met, he winked as he gave a smile full of promise and wonder. “Would you like to join me?”

“Yes! Absolutely, Sylv!”

“You boys go and make the world your stage.”

“We will, Tutu!”

Davé hugged her again, before turning back to Sylvando.

“Wait for me, alright?”

“Darling, we wouldn't dare leave without you! I will discuss this with the ringmaster posthaste.”

“Yer a legend, Sylv.”

Sylvando raised his arms delightedly.

“I try.”

* * *

Davé did not join the circus as a performer, but found his place in the troupe as a costume designer. His eye for detail and colours that worked well together was unparalleled. In a bout of inspiration, he had drawn the plans to clothe Sylv in feathers almost as long as he was tall. It would complement the birdlike theme that some of the dancers wore, and it would be a pleasant mixture of pink and black, what they considered to be their colours. Sylvando was so elated that he leapt for joy, hugging his friend and poking the page over his shoulder to offer suggestions for accessories that would match it. By the time they had finished their planning, everyone else had retired for the night.

“So, darling, where will our next stop be, hmm?”

“Well, I think it'd be neat to go to Octagonia.”

“Octagonia? Where fine warriors from all over the world travel to compete? Wonderful! I've always wanted to visit.”

Sylvando gave him a warm smile as he caught his friend yawning.

“Time for bed, I think. See you in the morning, Davé. Our beauty sleep calls!”

Davé laughed happily before yawning again. “Right you are, Sylv. G'night.”

“Goodnight, darling.” With that, he turned and left Davé alone with his sketches, and his thoughts.

_These outfits are gonna be amazin'._

* * *

It had taken them months of negotiating to get the ringmaster to agree to the trip to Octagonia. The journey across the plains of Zwaardsrust was a treacherous slog, paved with vicious monsters and rocky paths that were difficult for the caravan to traverse. But, as they stepped foot inside the gleaming golden walls, the troupe decided that it had been worth it.

Smiles graced the face of every person in sight, many clinking tankards and goblets, and the city was abuzz with the lively drone of excited conversations. A bunny girl with bright eyes bounced over to them immediately.

“Hi, sugars! Are y'all here for the tournament?”

“We were certainly planning on finding out what all the fuss was about, honey!” Sylvando offered enthusiastically, clapping his hands together.

“Well, whether you're a combatant or a spectator, all are welcome to join us here. Enjoy your stay in Octagonia!”

She handed out her pile of pamphlets before walking back to her station.

“Well, she seems like a right love,” Davé offered, peering over Sylv's shoulder as he opened one. It held details for fighting times, ticket prices, and souvenir stall placements, as well as a large picture of last year's combatants posing triumphantly before the event.

“She was very sweet, wasn't she? It gladdens my heart to see so many joyful faces here, as well. Should we head to the inn first, or meet with the mayor, perhaps?”

He looked up from the flyer, and as he gazed around at the people, he stilled.

_Do my eyes deceive me? Surely, it cannot be?_

“You alright, Sylv?”

“Wait here a moment,” he almost whispered, handing him the flyer before walking away. His steps were light, careful, and insecure as he made his way towards a familiar face.

“Could it be? Is that Sir Hendrik I see?”

The stony-faced man turned towards the call, eyebrows knit with confusion and uncertainty. As his eyes fell on Sylvando, his frown deepened, before his eyes widened and he took a step back with surprise.

Sylvando laughed softly, relief at the familiar reaction overriding the unpleasant memories of their parting.

“Do not presume to tell me that you are Norberto?” came the gruff reply.

“The very same,” Sylv announced with a bow. “Although, I go by _The Great Sylvando_ now. What an unexpected pleasure it is to find you in a place like this.”

“W-well, I had been dispatched here to deal with some outlaws, and when I heard what was going on...”

“You never could resist showing off your strength, Henny. Well, no matter what happens, I will be cheering for you! You show those meanies who's boss!”

Hendrik cleared his throat and looked away.

“I suppose I should thank you for that.”

“No need, honey! You smashing the competition will be more than thanks enough.”

Hendrik nodded solemnly.

“You know, I have a feeling that if you win, these people are the sort to build a statue in your honour!”

“Surely not!” he exclaimed, scandalised by the thought.

“I'm just playing, darling,” Sylvando chuckled, waving his hand. “Well, I fear I must be off. I am glad to see you looking so well, to say nothing of your success. Ciao for now.”

He turned on his heel and strode confidently towards a flight of stone stairs, leaving Hendrik to stare after him with confusion and relief. Don Rodrigo would be pleased to hear that his son was safe, the next time he was permitted to journey to Puerto Valor.

Sylv had not long descended several flights when amongst the fading cheers of the crowds above, his ears caught the faint whimpers of a child crying. His heart sank in his chest, and he strode more purposefully as he searched for them. Soon enough, he found a young boy who could not be any older than twelve, hidden beneath a stairwell and curled up behind some barrels. One arm rested on his knees, hiding his face, whilst the other was wiping at his eyes.

Sylvando squatted a careful distance away from one of the barrels, making himself as unimposing as possible before he spoke softly.

“What's the matter, little one?”

The boy startled, but hesitantly peered up at him from beneath his fringe.

“I want to compete when I get old enough, but I cannot fight while people are watching. My knees go weak, my mouth dries out, and I can barely move! Even thinking about it now is t-terrifying...”

“Oh dear! Well, we can't have that, now can we? A sweet little dear unable to perform when the spotlight is upon him? That just won't do.”

Sylv paused to consider his solution, watching the anxious hope cross the boy's face. Then he straightened and smiled brightly.

“Oh, I've got it! How do you feel about wearing a mask?”

“A mask? Will that help?”

“If your little bout of stage fright is caused by worrying what people will think of you, then it certainly can't hurt.”

The boy nodded, smiling weakly.

“Um, thank you, uh...?”

Sylvando got to his feet, pulling a shimmering mask from the satchel at his side. It was an eye-catching mixture of red and white, edged with gold. As though he had been doing so his entire life, he easily slipped the large mask onto his face, before striking a stunning pose. “The magnificent Sterling Sylva!”

For a moment, there was silence. Then a small giggle escaped the boy, growing into joyful laughter as he wiped his eyes again, pulling himself to his feet.

“That was indeed magnificent, mister Sylva!”

It was Sylvando's turn to laugh, bright and bubbling, as he set his hands against his hips.

“Just Sylv is fine, little one. I have many names, but Sylv is the constant.”

“So it's like, a title? A stage name?”

“Something like that.”

“So, what would I be called?”

Sylvando tilted his head, regarding him with pride.

“Well, if you were my sidekick, I would probably call you Golden Boy. It fits with the metal theme, and I think it suits you.”

Golden Boy's face lit up even more fiercely, and he mimicked Sylv's pose excitedly.

“Me, a sidekick? That would take their eyes off of me! We could be the Bullion Boys!”

Sylvando chortled, striking a complementary pose.

“Well, I might accept such an offer, if you can prove that you will follow your dreams. You must work towards your goal every day, and become a fighter _par excellence._ Do you have what it takes?”

“Yessir!”

Golden Boy suddenly crossed his arms, his face falling as quickly as rain in a thunderstorm.

“Although, I do not have a mask of my own.”

“Worry not, my faithful sidekick!” Sylv stood proudly, before leaning forward to reach his eye level with a kind smile. “My friend is a whizz with designing. He will be able to make you up a most excellent mask faster than you can cast Zoom!”

“Will he?”

The promise was worth every second of seeing the boy's delight grow once more.

“He would be delighted to, I assure you. Would you like to go and meet him?”

“I-I very much would.”

Smiling brightly, Sylv breezed up the stairs, knowing that Golden Boy would follow.

“Oh, Davé?”

Davé turned towards him, waving him over.

“'Ello, Sylv. What can I do fer you?”

“What colours do you think would work best on a mask for this boy here?”

He stood aside to let Davé see Golden Boy.

“Hmm... Well, you can match quite a few colours to blond 'air. Per'aps a purple of sorts, or a green. What look are you going for?”

Davé addressed the boy with the statement, but he returned to hiding behind Sylv.

“Something that will hide his identity, and boost his confidence when eyes are upon him. Something subtle, but mesmerising, and preferably something that would work well with mine.”

His friend nodded with understanding, staring thoughtfully at the mask that Sylv still wore.

“Per'aps a blue then? We'll keep the white theme, and maybe run some silver through it.”

As Sylv turned to his charge, the boy nodded.

“So it's settled then.”

Sylvando grinned joyfully down at him, clapping his hands together.

“Oh, we'll make a star of you yet.”

Barely contained hope and excitement shone brightly in the boy's eyes once more.

* * *

“Ta-da!” Sylvando sang, presenting the recently finished mask to his future sidekick a week later. Golden Boy practically leapt for joy as he accepted it, reverently holding it up to the light.

“I cannot believe that you kept true to your word! And it is magnificent indeed. I don't know how to thank you, Sylv!”

“Darling, as I said the day we met, my thanks need only be your smiling face and your commitment to your cause. We will meet again, I promise you. And when that day comes, I long to see how far you have come with your training. Make me proud, okay?”

“I will, Sylv. You won't regret it, I swear!”

Sylvando smiled at the words, reminiscing about a time where he had said the same thing to his father. It was when he had first donned his mother's accessories. His father had been so upset to see them worn improperly that he had ordered him to find clothes that matched, and when Sylv had returned to his parents' room, his Papi helped him until each piece sat comfortably in its rightful position. Then he had helped his wife teach Sylvando the basics of accessorising.

“I know I won't. Take care of yourself, sweetie.”

Sylvando readied himself to leave when the boy threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around his leg and weeping into his stomach. The man could do little more than open and close his mouth, surprised into inaction.

“Thank you. Thank you... I-I'll miss you! You've been so kind to me.”

Uncertain about what to do, but not wanting to see him cry, he carefully wrapped his arm around Golden Boy's shoulders, gently ruffling his hair with his free hand.

“I will miss you too, darling, but there is no need to worry. Cry as much as you need to, and then dry your tears so that you can look into the future with hope, okay?”

Golden Boy nodded blearily, sniffling.

“I greatly look forward to the day when I can fight by your side. Our debut as the Bullion Boys will be the most magnificent contest the world has ever seen!”

“We'll blow them down,” Golden Boy agreed, slowly pulling away. “We will test our mettle with all the glittering force of precious jewels!”

“That's the spirit, honey!”

They shared a vibrant, conspiratorial grin, deeply contented.

* * *

Nine years later, when Sylv joined the quest alongside the Luminary, he knew something big was happening. It had been difficult leaving his troupe after so long, but Davé had promised to man his ship and meet him when they eventually reached Gondolia. Besides, he was comforted by how wonderful it was to see how close their small group was already growing. The twins' bond was understandable, and Serena was the sort to get along with everyone, but the trust that the boys had for each other was enviable.

From the corner of his eye, he frequently caught them being intimate. Erik, with his arm around El's shoulders or back at any opportunity. El, slipping his hand into Erik's hood or sash when it got too cold. One bumping subtly into the other as they walked, the brush of knees, elbows and fingers never quite passing off as an accident.

 _They really are sweet,_ he mused happily, stoking the fire to ward against the harsh Gallopolitan night after their first days together.

* * *

“Oh dear,” a man muttered, resting his wrist beneath his own chin. “What kind of mess have we gotten ourselves into now?”

The pot that they had been crafting in lay at their feet, large ceramic shards falling away from the shattered base. An unnatural breeze had blown by and knocked everything to the ground.

“I dunno, love,” his companion answered softly, crouching down to salvage what he could.

“At least we got through the most important things,” the first sighed, kneeling down to help.

A small band of travellers approached the campsite, battle-hardened and weary. All save for one, who gave a friendly wave, and broke away from the group to greet them.

“Hello, darlings! Is there anything that we can help with?”

“Oh, thank you for offering, dear. But I'm not sure how much can be helped. We believe a large monster flew overhead, because there was a huge wind that came through and knocked everything down; one far too strong for these parts.”

“Oh, well that just won't do!” the man cried. “Never fear, sweeties. I, the Great Sylvando, shall assist! My party and I will take care of the monster once we have rested, but for now, you can borrow our station if you still have materials to use.”

“That's awfully generous of you, Sylv,” one stated, awed.

“Are you sure, boss?” the other asked, standing up with his pouch full of items.

“Of course, loves. No traveller should be left unprepared, especially in Laguna Di Gondolia. The monsters are particularly fierce around here.”

“That's true, but we're tougher than we look,” the first assured brightly, and both struck a fighting pose filled with strength.

“So I can see!” Sylv agreed happily. “Well, then. After I get some beauty sleep, would you two join us on a monster hunt?”

“We thought you'd never ask.”

The pair relaxed from their stances, one kneeling to stoke the fire whilst the other packed up the remains of their craft station, finishing just as the party arrived.

Erik waved but said nothing, pitching the tent quickly. Veronica set up inside it the moment it was finished, claiming her space and falling asleep on top of her bedroll. Erik rolled his eyes, threw a blanket over her, and readied the rest of their bedrolls. Serena enquired about any injuries, and with Sylvando's direction, El set up the fun-sized forge for the pair. They were stunned once more by the generosity, and the legendary artefact.

“Is it truly alright for us to use this? It's just so... fancy.”

El nodded, just as Sylv did.

“We all have to look after each other, sweeties. There's just no other way.”

They agreed, grateful again for their acts of kindness, and got to work under the Luminary's supervision.

* * *

“Thank you for all of your help with that monster, boss.”

“And for the crafting!” They hugged him, then stepped back gracefully.

“We'll be staying here in Gondolia for some time. If you find any more people like us, just send them our way, and we'll train them just like you've taught us.”

Sylvando shifted his stance proudly, gazing down at them with adoration, then gently ruffled their hair.

“I'm so proud of you, darlings. Thank you for accepting such a task.”

“There's nothing we'd like more. It's the least we can do to repay you for helping us so much.”

Sylv moved his hands back to his hips, positively glowing.

“We will probably head to our next destination shortly after the _Signor Universo_ contest. You'll see us off, won't you?”

“Of course, boss!”

“We'll be working on that little project of yours in the shipyard, too, don't you worry.”

“Whatever would I do without you, my boys?”

“Continue being your wonderful self, but with more work,” they laughed.

* * *

No one could have anticipated the way their quest ended so abruptly. One minute, they were frozen to the spot, trying desperately to act; in the next, they were alone, separated by an unknown distance and far from the World Tree.

Sylv opened his eyes before clutching at his head, trying to focus on where he was between his aching thoughts. A quick Remidiheal pulled him through it, and as he sat up, the place seemed vaguely familiar. Glamorous blue walls surrounded him on all sides, edged with a rich, dark wood, and the bed beneath him was soft.

_Bed? But we were camping last I knew._

He sat up slowly, resting his legs over the side and feeling the press of the wood against his calves, before he got to his feet. He cracked the door open slightly and peered into the hallway. No one was around, so he was able to wander the halls uninhibited, soon remembering where he was.

_L'Académie de Notre Maître des Médailles._

Realising this, he traipsed gracefully down the stairs, making his way to the headmaster's office. He knocked politely.

“My, such a refined knock! You may earn a medal mark for your class. Please, come in,” came the enthusiastic voice.

Sylv entered, flattered by the statement, and greeted him with a smile.

“Ah, you have recovered, I see. Good, good. About my comment-”

Sylvando held up a hand to stop him.

“Oh, it was sweet, I assure you. Had I not been educated at home, I would not have been opposed to your tutelage at this fine establishment. But alas, I am here to discuss the present.”

“You wish to know what happened,” the headmaster nodded sagely, resting his palms on his desk. “Yggdrasil fell a fortnight prior. We found you two days ago, collapsed in the courtyard. Naturally, we took you in and allowed you to recover, as we were very worried. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I've lived through much worse, darling. Nevertheless, I thank you for your concern. So,” he rested his wrists against his stomach with worry, his fingertips pressing together. “I take it that I was alone?”

“I'm afraid so,” the headmaster bowed his head apologetically. “There was no trace of your delightful party.”

“I see...” Sylvando's stomach sank. “Well, I appreciate all that you have done for me. I will take my leave.”

“Hold it right there, if you please,” the headmaster raised his hand, much as Sylv had done. “A group of delightful young lads were looking for you. They should still be around here somewhere.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

Sylv bowed and left, poised elegantly as he made his way outside. It wasn't long before he found a few of his boys, chatting in the courtyard.

“Blow me down, it _is_ you!”

“Boss! We knew we'd find you well.”

“We looked all over for you!”

Sylvando smiled brightly, his eyes sparkling with relief to find them safe, and opened his arms wide. Soon enough, they all filled the space, hugging him and each other sweetly. The soft feathers at their backs tickled his hands.

“We've kept up with your regimen, you know.”

“That's right! We're even stronger now than ever before, thanks to you, and we have a surprise for you.”

They pulled away gracefully, the one who had spoken the least taking his hands and gently tugging him towards the side of the building. The other two eased some of the bushes out of the way, and Sylvando gasped with awe.

“Ta-da! We finished those plans of yours.”

Before him lay a construction shaped like a chariot, glass light casings running up the sides. Although currently unlit, the float was still exceptionally vibrant. Ten fixtures shaped like stallions reared up at its sides, supporting it and ready to protect its centrepiece, just like each of his boys. Amidst them was a round stage backed by large, wooden feathers, fanning out behind it like a proud peacock. The feathers were intricately carved, alternating between the same pink and green that his entourage wore. Each was accentuated by two gleaming stars and feathery tufts.

“Oh, darlings, it is magnificent,” Sylvando breathed, a tear coming to his eye. “It is truly beautiful. You all did so well!”

“Thanks, boss!” they cheered in unison.

“One thing I must know before we test it out, however, is where the rest of our troupe are.”

“They'll be guarding the gates with some of the teachers, boss.”

“That's right! We couldn't leave these poor dears without their tutors, especially not now that the monsters have grown so vicious as of late.”

“Some are performing in the hall right now,” a new voice announced. The four of them turned to regard a fine young woman, her posture strong and eyes fierce.

“Thanks for the info, honey,” Sylv replied gratefully. “But something tells me that is not all that you wish to say.”

She smiled fiercely, pointing at him with unshakeable determination, while her free hand rested on her hip.

“I will not let you outdo me, Sylvando. I have been training for years to match your physique.”

Delight shone in his eyes as he clapped his hands together, taking a step forward to observe her better.

“It is wonderful to hear that I have inspired you to strive, darling! What is it that interests you? Fighting? Dancing, acting?”

“Exercise. I spar, dance, and run daily.”

“Most impressive, sweetie! It takes a lot of stamina to do such a thing ordinarily, much less on top of your studies.”

Her smile softened slightly at the praise, but her resolve was unwavering. He continued.

“Would you like to demonstrate what you've learned?”

“Yes, I'll take you on!”

He held up a placating hand.

“First, I must know; what drives you to train so diligently?”

She stared up at him unflinchingly. If anything, she seemed even more determined, almost pepped up.

“I look at you and I see myself. Strong, fierce, elegant, beautiful. And, to see your physique and imagine myself is...” she paused, trying to find the best word to capture her feelings.

“Affirming?” he offered kindly.

“Yes, exactly!”

He beamed with pure joy, his endless love and warmth surging through him.

“You are very brave to be so true to yourself. It can be so difficult, when how you look does not match how you feel.”

She stared at him incredulously, unable to place how he could see through her so easily.

“Enough talk. I would rather we do battle.” She drew a rapier from a sheath at her side.

Sighing with defeat, a smile still plastered on his face, he fell into a battle stance with his own rapier while she took a fencer's position.

“Elegant and refined, fencing,” he praised. “Show me the beauty of your style.”

She launched herself towards him, starting with a feint when he swung his blade up to parry, but her following strike was deflected. She stayed on the offensive for the first five minutes, soon switching to defensive to conserve her strength. Just as he had with her, she parried all of his blows, the two of them well matched. Finally, when a bead of sweat rolled into her eye and she blinked for a moment too long, the flat of his blade pressed lightly against her arm.

Smiling kindly, he sheathed his weapon and offered his hand to her good-naturedly. Somewhat reluctantly, she shook it, knowing that it was only polite despite her disappointment.

“You have done well, little one,” he praised, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You may surpass me yet.”

“Would...” she started, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “Would you be so kind as to offer improvements?”

“Absolutely, honey. I think you've more than earned it.”

The drummer from his entourage came over to them with cold goblets of fresh water, which they partook of eagerly.

As Sylvando began offering her tips on how to improve her training, and to get the physique she desired, another girl wandered towards them. They finished their discussion just before she got there, and the challenger turned around with a sparkle in her eye.

“There you are,” she soothed, her voice softer than anything she had offered Sylvando. She sheathed her rapier and offered her free arm. The newcomer shyly pressed against her side, linking their arms with a small smile.

Sylvando couldn't be happier for them if he tried.

“Ah, young love. Truly, there may be nothing in this world quite so beautiful.”

The challenger's face lit up, more than subtly pleased with the praise from her rival. The soft-spoken girl was the first to talk.

“Merci, monsieur Sylvando. I know that you 'ave just made 'er entire week. As much as you are a rival to 'er, so too are you an inspiration.”

“Yes, you have helped me a great deal. Thank you.”

Sylv stood proudly, regarding them warmly.

“I am very happy to hear it! My goal is to make everyone smile, and a wonderful place to start is by making a space for everyone to feel welcome.”

One girl curtsied while the other bowed, both flooded with peace at his warm acceptance. Truly, the rumours about him were founded, of his unfailing kindness, and that everyone had a place in his heart.

He placed his hand on his chest and politely returned the bow.

“The next time we battle, I'll defeat you. You'll see,” the combatant grinned. Sylvando's eyes sparkled with pride.

“If you continue to improve at the same rate, you certainly will. Until we meet again.” He waved and climbed the stairs into the building, his followers falling into step behind him.

Whenever he met another of their rank, his troupe would greet him in the same manner as the others had, with various praises and embraces filled with relief. When there was time, they told him the summary of their travels, and their goal to continue his legacy until they could be reunited once more.

The troupe were granted rest for another night, a favour for helping the staff in keeping the students safe. When they left the academy, they did so with smiles and waves, a fierce pride burning in their hearts as they marched to fulfil their duty.

* * *

Several months passed, and their tour took them back to the Champs Sauvage. Everyone who met them now knew them as the Soldiers Of Smile, young men with uplifting personalities and beautiful movements, all perfectly synchronised. They were just crossing the bridge to the southern half of the region when a cry echoed around them.

“ _Help!”_

Everyone glanced around quickly, trying to locate the source of the plea.

“Look! Over there, boss!” A dancer pointed.

Sylvando followed his arm, laying eyes on a terrified man scrambling back from a fierce monster. Within moments, he had leapt from his stage, somersaulting through the air rapidly until he came crashing down on the beast, the brief flash of his blade encouraging it to flee.

“Are you alright, sir?” he enquired kindly, offering his hand. The man pulled himself to his feet.

“I am thanks to you, I think so. You have my deepest gratitude.”

Sylv nodded, about to say something, when he caught a large mass of purple and brown in his periphery. He turned to the newcomer, mouth agape with shock, before he threw himself into his relief.

“ _El!”_

El smiled brightly, although something was missing. It took Sylv only a moment to understand what it was.

_He hasn't been able to find Erik, either._

“Here, darling. Why don't you put these on? You can lead the way to Phnom Nonh as the star of the show!”

El nodded, taking the change of clothes from him enthusiastically. Three members of the troupe hurried forward, lifting a metal hoop above him, a curtain falling around him so that he could change in peace. He tapped the metal circle when he was done, and when they lowered it, the ensemble applauded his new look.

“You look absolutely stunning, my dear! So, what do you say, hmm? Will you lead this humble little party?”

El's eyes shone brightly with excitement as he nodded.

“Splendid! We'll keep up, so go at your own pace.”

With that, he leapt back onto his stage, pulling a fan from his sleeve as he began to dance. As though they were one almighty being, the troupe moved in unison, dancing and playing music as energetically as they could. El took to the dance smoothly enough, resting his hand on his hip and waving passionately, the upbeat music flowing through him like healing magic. He walked beside the local, pleased to note that the monsters were mesmerised by the performance, none daring to draw near.

El couldn't remember the last time he had felt so free.

* * *

The people of Phnom Nonh were sad to see them go, but as Sylv announced that they would all have their memories and their smiles, they couldn't help but cheerfully see the men off. Their endless joy and beautiful smiles were infectious, and since they continued to be happy, so could the town.

El, rather than leading this time, chose to walk beside Sylvando. He gazed at him expectantly, knowing that something was amiss, but unable to grasp exactly what it was. Sylv always got a bit quiet when it came to discussing Puerto Valor, he'd noticed.

As they sat down to rest that night, gazing into the comforting glow of the northern site's campfire, he seemed even more distant. El lightly rested his hand on his shoulder, eyes pleading. Sylvando smiled weakly.

“Hello, sweetie. I suppose you want to know what all the fuss is about?”

He waited for acknowledgement before continuing.

“I have not seen my Papi in just over ten years, and all because of a promise I made myself. I have almost finished it now, and yet, I must admit that I am a little nervous.”

El waited patiently, squeezing his shoulder sympathetically.

 _Everything will be alright,_ he seemed to say.

“Yes, you are right, little love. Thank you once again for all your help. Best to get some sleep now, hmm?”

As though bidden by his words, El yawned.

“Goodnight, darling.”

He stared into the fire a little longer, listening to El get ready and the sleeping breaths of his entourage, before finally heading to bed.

* * *

El stayed close to his side, silently reassuring him as they entered Don Rodrigo's mansion. Servantes greeted them, his eyes crinkling at the corners with relief and joy, then he pulled him into a tight hug. Sylvando sighed softly, returning the embrace gratefully.

“It is good to see you too, Servantes. And what of my Papi?”

Servantes stepped back, studying them carefully, before leading them up the stairs.

“He recently suffered an injury while protecting Puerto Valor from a monster attack, but he is recovering well. It will gladden his heart to see you, Norberto.”

Gazing meaningfully into his eyes, he opened the door, before stepping aside. El strode in confidently, Sylvando following his lead.

Don Rodrigo sat up carefully at the intrusion, squinting at Sylv and his feathers with confusion. When his gaze fell upon his eyes, however, he grinned broadly.

“Norberto! Is it really you? Come, let me see your face.”

Sylvando stepped past El, determined not to give in to the waves of anxiety washing over him.

_I must put on my brave face for everyone._

He stood proudly before him, his straight back and confident stance a pleasant reminder of his time as a knight.

“Since you are here, my son, does this mean that the world smiles?”

“Almost, Papi. Much of the world smiles, but it also grieves, and fears. And it will continue to do so, until we remove that nasty ol' Lord of Shadows from it. So, just a little longer, Papi. I promise.”

Don Rodrigo stood, and Sylv glanced away, expecting to be scolded. Instead, he rested his hands on his son's shoulders, and warmly gazed down at him.

“It has been ten years now, my son. The time for misgivings and hesitation is finally over. You do what you must, and come home to us when you are done, you hear? I'm proud of you, Norberto.”

Sylvando sniffed quietly, staring up at him with teary eyes and the largest smile he possessed.

“I love you, Papi. Thank you so much, for everything.”

“You are my son, Norberto. Most of what has been accomplished has been all you. The world owes you all the love and affection that you give to it.”

Sylvando wrapped his arms around his father, resting his forehead on his shoulder as he hugged him tightly. This moment was everything he had ever wanted. No words were powerful enough to express his joy, relief and gratitude, so this simple gesture would suffice.

**Author's Note:**

> Although I'm not especially feminine, and certainly not a dancer, here I stand a proud Soldier Of Smile. It would have been nice to see some more representation than just the Effeminate Gay Man stereotype, but I understand that Sylv was looking for people that fit into a particular role to complement his act, and was very selective about the fitness of who he trained, so I have no regrets. At least they are diverse in age and appearance. Besides, those five minutes of leading the Pride Parade were among my happiest in the game.


End file.
